


When the Magic is Gone

by shiplizard



Series: Strange Devices [3]
Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-19
Updated: 2010-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 04:45:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiplizard/pseuds/shiplizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot sequels with little to no plot for Strange Devices.  Will unfortunately make more sense if you've plowed through that beast first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When the Magic is Gone

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone brave enough to read this without doing Strange Devices first, the premise runs thusly:
> 
> By hook, crook, and mischief, Bob has gotten himself implanted in a body, Golem of Prague style (plus coherent speech, minus faith magic). And he has gotten his paws on Harry Dresden, who has made a kind of peace with boytouching, what with it feeling so nice.

After a long day dealing with the supernatural and putting down stray mini-demons, it sure was nice to come home to a hot shower.

At least, I was assuming it would be. Hot water heaters, like refrigerators, televisions, and radios somehow just don't stay functioning around me. I got a nice cold shower as a reward for the day's work.

I scrubbed myself, shivering, trying to get the soot off. Damn mini-demon. Dumb kids. Stupid Ouija boards, those damn things were a menace.

I was pale and blue around the lips by the time I finally cleaned off the smell of cheap incense and hellfire; I wrapped myself in a towel and stumbled out into my room.

I almost ran into my roommate, who was heading in the opposite direction.

"Dammit, B-bob, I thought you were in the lab."

The golem raised a fine white eyebrow and stepped aside so I could get into the bedroom. "I was. But I heard you come home. So I came up to-" a hand brushed my shoulder. "Harry, you're freezing."

"I needed a shower."

"Obviously." Bob scowled. "Cold water. Civilized people shouldn't live like this. Here-" he ran a hand through my wet hair, and I felt warm air stirring over my scalp.

"You don't have to do that," I said, looking extremely firm and convincing with my eyes half-closed in pleasure. My hair was half dry already, and there was a blissful warmth spreading across my skin.

"I know I don't. But I have ulterior motives." Bob stepped close, his chest pressing against mine; I could feel his body-heat through the thin material of his t-shirt. "It's possible that I'm seducing you."

That generated a different kind of heat, somewhere just south of my stomach. His last 'seduction'-- a fairly marathon makeout session on my couch, powered by his energy and my inability to stop kissing him while under the influence-- popped obligingly to mind.

I felt a little tug of arousal. I'm straight, not dead. "Oh. Keep it up, then."

Bob chuckled warmly and stroked his hand through my hair. I turned my head into the touch.

"Do you want me to-?" I felt the tingle of energy where his hand lay against my skin.

"Not yet," I said, reaching up to take his wrist. "I always get in a hurry when you do that. I don't want to rush, okay?"

"He wants foreplay?" Bob said, sounding amused. "Harry, you big girl. Should I have brought flowers?"

My slowly awakening libido withered like an early flower in a cold snap. "Dammit, Bob," I muttered, pulling away, my cheeks going red. "Nevermind." And now my chest was cold again. The towel around my hips wasn't doing much to retain heat.

"Harry." Bob said, frowning. He reached out for me, a surprisingly meaningful gesture. He did everything with gratuitous amounts of grace, and the full extension of his arm and the curve of his dancer's body as he did it made it seem almost... seem... something besides the throwaway, casual gesture that it was. I felt something twinge in my chest.

"Get back to the lab," I said, hunting the bedroom for my robe.

"...is that a command?"

"No," I grumbled. "No, it's not a command." Bob might piss me off sometimes, but that didn't mean I was going to start abusing my control of him. Even if he was being a bastard. I sat on the bed and rubbed a hand over my eyes. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm not in the mood. I can give you the night off if you want to go out."

Bob circled me at a wary distance, not approaching the bed. "Are we having a fight? Is that what this is? You're kicking me out of the house?"

"We're not having a fight," I said. "I just-- I can't tonight, so it's not fair to-"

"Aah," Bob said, catching on, suddenly pausing in his thoughtful pacing. "You feel bad about not delivering, so you're freeing me to go wench."

It sounded a little cold when he put it that way, but that was about the gist of it. I nodded.

"And you think I'm just going to traipse out and get laid because you've turned me down," he said, his voice getting just a hair more formal, a hair sharper. He was still paused mid-stride, perfectly still, as if I'd said something so dumb I'd stopped him in his tracks.

"I don't mind, Bob," I said tiredly. "Monogamy's never been part of the arrangement."

"We never formalized that arrangement," Bob said, eyebrows drawing together. "I'm starting to think that that's not a good thing."

"I didn't think it needed formalizing. Sometimes we have sex. That's it."

"That's it. I see." Bob sat down beside me, a careful few inches from me. "You're my wizard playtoy. Occasionally you surrender yourself into my power and I do naughty things to you. The rest of the time, we're, what? Master and servant?"

Ouch. "Friends. We're friends. Aren't we?"

Bob was giving me a strange look.

I pulled back defensively. "Stars, Bob, what do you want from me?"

He stood up, then, and stripped off his shirt and shoes and pants. He looked like a well-worn underwear model. A well-worn model of underwear, I mean-- his boxers looked new and impeccable and strained intriguingly across his ass as he bent to rummage through my drawers. If I were in a better mood, the sight probably would have done something for me.

I wondered if I shouldn't just swallow my pride and let him have me. It would patch this whatever-it-was that was slowly cracking open between us. It wouldn't matter that I didn't want it. He could make me want it; he could make me enjoy it. It wouldn't hurt me if I didn't resist it. I'd practically promised it to him.

But more than that-- all bullshit aside-- I really didn't want to fall asleep alone tonight.

"I do not release you from your oath of loyalty, nor honesty, nor protection, but until I say 'be thou commanded' I bid you act of your own free will." I said quietly, maybe a little too quickly. The rote words were a relief; I'd chosen and I couldn't go back. Not without violating rules I'd set for myself when Bob agreed to be my familiar.

Bob stiffened and turned to look at me. "What?"

"You can go out if you want. But, uh, I'd really like it if you stayed."

He watched me warily. "Even though you're not in the mood?"

I forced a smile. "You can fix that."

It was the wrong thing to say. I saw his face go blank, and there was something hard in his voice. "Why don't I slip you a roofie while we're at it?"

"Bob, I'm willing," I explained patiently, holding out a hand. "Just hang around afterwards and you'll have earned it."

Bob stalked to the bed shoved something into my outstretched hand. A pair of boxers.

"Put those on," he said, a chilled anger clinging like frost to the edge of his voice.

I took off the towel and put them on, feeling a little sick to my stomach.

"Have fun," I said brightly. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Harry, shut up," Bob said, jaw tense. He sat heavily on the bed and wrapped his arms around me tightly. "Shut up, you're cold."

"But-" Okay. I could do angry sex. It was practically a tradition.

"What part of shut up was too difficult for you?" He pulled me to the mattress and dragged the blankets over us.

I pressed against him, sinking against his familiar heat. When I didn't feel the tingle of his energy right away, I reached out to stroke a finger flirtatiously down one arm, trying to spur him into action. The sheets were already starting to get warm. If he didn't do something soon, I was going to fall asleep on him.

"Stop that," he almost snapped, and caught my arm to tuck it around him. I stilled obediently, waiting for him to make a move.

His hand came up to stroke my hair, and I braced myself for the warmth to wash over me. And waited...

He stroked my hair. The angry tension in him faded, and he tucked me against him almost gently, our foreheads nearly touching. The only warmth was the blankets, and his solid body, and my bed, which seemed to have developed its own gravitational pull. He kept touching me unhurriedly, soothing strokes over my back and neck, and my eyes started to burn with the effort of keeping them open. "Bob, m'gonna fall asleep," I warned him.

"Yes," he said. Agreement, criticism, or suggestion, I didn't know. My eyes shut, and still he just held me and soothed me.

"Bob, I don't-"

"Shut up," he said, his voice very gentle. "Shut up and go to sleep. You dumb wizard."

I shut up and went to sleep.

 

 

I woke up pressed against a warm body-- solid, masculine. Familiar, after a few weeks of mornings like this.

"Mm. You 'wake?" I slurred. If he was, he'd answer. If he wasn't, it would take more than a whisper to wake him up out of his deep, dreamless sleep.

"Yeah." The voice didn't come from where I expected it to. I blinked.

Bob's face swam into view, lit dimly by the morning light that had pushed its way through the curtains. He'd propped his chin on an elbow, watching my face.

"Morning," I said.

"That it is," he agreed. There was something careful about his voice that puzzled me.

I reviewed my actions last night through the lens of rationality and a full night's sleep. And almost shuddered. I'm not at my best when I'm tired. I make really, really dumb decisions without a few solid hours of shut-eye behind me. Like trying to use magic I shouldn't try to use, almost blowing myself up with Little Chicago... and hey, if life hasn't been quite that stressful recently, how about I act like an insecure teenage girl? That'll go well.

"Hey, Bob?"

"Harry." He shifted against me.

"Sorry for being a big girl last night." I reached out to touch his arm. "I'm really glad you stuck around."

"All you had to do was ask," Bob said, a reproach in his voice.

"I know. But it feels weird asking for favors like that."

"Favors." Frustration replaced the reproach. "Harry-"

"Right. Right, I know you're not doing it for some kind of mercenary deal. But I like the cuddling, and you don't, so it just doesn't seem fair-" I made to roll out of bed.

Bob's hand caught me mid-roll, in the middle of the chest, and pinned me back to the bed with uncanny strength. Not enough to hurt, or even knock the wind out of me, but there was something definite about the weight of his grip.

"Harry, we need to talk."

"Uh. Okay." I shrugged, a little awkwardly. I wasn't particularly nervous: he couldn't hurt me, at least, not physically.

He did look a little intimidating, though, looking down on me with an intent look on his face. "That virgin-and-dragon act? Don't do that again." A little leftover anger flared in his voice. "Ever."

I recognized the tone in his voice where I hadn't last night. He was offended. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"No shit, Harry. You should know better than to give a spirit that kind of control-"

"It's not a spirit. It's you," I pointed out. "I trust you. I have good reasons to trust you. Give me credit for not being that stupid."

Bob sighed. "You're right. You're not _quite_ that stupid."

"Gee, thanks."

"But you are wrong, though." Bob crawled closer, a careful rearrangement that never took the weight off of my chest. "About me not liking it."

"Foreplay? Bob, I've made love potions with you, Mr. Anything-that-lowers-her-inhibitions."

"No, the mushy stuff." Bob sighed heavily. "I'm just going to blame the body, okay?"

"For what?"

"For being..." The weight on my chest eased. "I don't like it when you're upset, Harry. I want to fix it." Bob settled down next to me, and my eyes had adjusted enough to see his frown. "I think it might be empathy. It's a pain."

"Empathy, huh?" I smiled.

He slid an arm over me and sighed. "Or something. And if you don't want to be alone, then... well, I want to be there."

I blinked. "Really."

"Really," he confirmed, sounding a little disgusted at himself.

I could tell that it didn't really bother him-- but he wasn't entirely comfortable with it, and he wasn't about to just own up to it with a clear conscience. He'd started to care, and that was a little weird for him.

It was a little weird for me, too. It was also causing a big, girly fluttering feeling in my stomach.

So I kissed him. Just shifted forward in the bed and pressed my lips to his, not exactly chastely, not exactly softly.

There was a pause, and he responded, not exactly chaste himself. Just one kiss, but it went on for a while.

"What are you doing, Harry?" he murmured as our lips parted.

"Bob. I am a sap. A romantic. A Big Girl. And I like empathy."

His face softened, and I saw the pleased smile he couldn't completely suppress. "Well, silver linings in every cloud, I suppose," he said, trying to sound casual, and failing, and sounding happy instead.

I'm not such a sap that being considered a silver lining made me grin or anything. Nope. Or kiss him again. More than once. Or twice. He pulled me closer with a hand at the small of my back, and I ran my hand up the swell of his bicep.

Straight, not dead.

Besides, this wasn't exactly 'another guy'. This was Bob. I didn't need mystical energy to respond to a knowing touch-- and oh, he knew me. Maybe we'd never taken it all that slow, but we'd touched, learned each other, groping desperately across the bed, the couch, the nearest workbench... He'd done things to me I'd never imagined, and I'd done them right back.

His tongue flicked across the roof of my mouth, and I realized just how heated our kiss had gotten. I played back the last few moments in my head and remembered his lips parting as my tongue pressed between them.

I pulled back to look at him, my eyes tracking from his-- green, dark with lust, a light deep inside the pupils-- down his strong face to those expressive lips that had been playing me like a musical instrument a second ago. They were moist, beestung, parted because he was breathing heavily through his mouth.

"Harry." His rich, playful voice had gone rough. "Don't stop."

"No." I reached up to stroke his full bottom lip with one finger. "I'm not going to. Do you have any idea how good you look right now?"

He leaned forward to take my finger into his mouth. Shook his head.

I watched his lips drag along my finger, unable to look away. "I... don't actually know where I'd draw the line right now."

His tongue flickered across my fingertip as he let it go. "All this just because I gave you a cuddle? Wow, Harry, you're easy."

If I didn't know him so well, I might have been offended-- but I caught his tone. Bob was a little nervous about admitting what he'd admitted, a little puzzled by the way I'd responded, and he wasn't sure what was going to happen next. In a word, he was flustered.

I live to fluster Bob.

"Want to see where this goes?" I said, stroking his lip again.

His eyes lidded, and suddenly I didn't feel so in control.

"You know... I've been wondering," he began very softly, trailing off at the end, offering me the initiative.

"Yeah, Bob?" I felt a pulse of nervous energy, and... something else.

"How far can I take you? Without cheating?" He pursed his lips thoughtfully against my finger and my stomach turned over. "Without touching a single inhibition." He trailed his fingers down my chest, scraping lightly with the fingernails. "Without firing a single hormone. Without-" His hand had reached my boxers and slid down between my legs, and now he could feel for himself just how far he'd taken me already. He stopped, as if he couldn't believe what was straining up against his palm.

"Yes," I whispered, trying not to push into his hand. "Yes, Bob, please."

Light flared in his eyes. "Turn over," he said in a low voice. "On your stomach."

I did, not without a little hesitation.

"Just-- don't rush this."

His hands slid down my sides slowly, almost reverently. "Oh, Harry," he purred. "Not for all the romance novels in the world." I closed my eyes and felt a soft kiss on my shoulder, followed by the firm pressure of his hand, palm sinking into the muscle and circling. There was a matching touch on the other side, and then his hands slid down my back and back up to smooth out the nervous tension.

I shut my eyes in pleasure and relief, and let him rub my back, occasionally dropping light kisses onto my skin. Just the quick, dry brush of his lips-- but it was like a little pulse of electricity on overstimulated nerves that had nothing to do with eldritch power and everything to do with being cherished this way. The way his fingers caressed me, the deliberate splay of his hands-- he was enjoying touching me as much as I was enjoying his touch. And he just went on, as if he couldn't get enough of me; all I had to do was lie there and enjoy being wanted. It made me feel sexy. Decadent.

He took his time, paying attention to every inch, every muscle group-- If I'd known he could do this, I don't know if I could have stopped myself from begging for it. If I could stop myself, after the next hard day and frigid shower. Hell, I didn't even know why I should.

But I wasn't tense now, I was boneless and I almost felt like purring. The backrub was wonderful, but other parts of me were feeling neglected now. My erection was trapped between me and the bed, and when I imagined him using that same slow, reverent caress THERE--

My hips arched off the bed without my conscious control, and he pressed them back down and started the too-slow massage again.

_More, dammit!_ I thought, and only realized I'd spoken when his hands stilled.

Then his fingers trailed down my back and hooked under the waistband of my boxers.

"Oh, yeah-" I lifted my hips again, and he made the boxers disappear.

"Dangerous ground, Harry." His voice curled around my nerves, sent a pulse of arousal straight to my groin. "I'm liable to do anything to you at this point."

I desperately tried to think of a snappy comeback, something that wasn't needy and wanton and embarrassing.

"Oh, I love your voice."

That wasn't it. But he didn't laugh, and when he spoke again he sounded almost shaken.

"Harry." He pressed his face into the small of my back, kissing up my spine. "Someday, I'm going to pin you to this bed and talk dirty to you until you're so hard you can't stand it. And then I'm going to kneel over you and ride you like a cowboy. Understood?"

I groaned my agreement.

"But not now." His strong hands slid down to knead my ass. I could have sworn I didn't have any erogenous zones there yesterday-- I mean, I'd never be able to sit down if it always felt like this. He parted my buttocks "Now I want this."

_He's going to fuck me._ I thought, and the words aroused me almost as much as they scared me. I wondered if he'd gotten the lube out while I was distracted-- I could almost feel one of those blunt fingers brushing across me before it slipped inside of me.

Instead, a slick, soft something touched my entrance. It was so much softer than a finger, and it was way too small to be his dick even if he weren't in the wrong position; for a second I didn't understand.

The wet heat lapped across the entrance to my body and I had an instantaneous, crystal clear image of what Bob was doing between my legs.

"Oh, God!"

"Harry?" Bob pulled back instantly. "Do you need me to stop?"

Of course he had to stop. We were way beyond my comfort zone. I couldn't take something this weird on my own. It was disgusting. I didn't want that.

I shook my head desperately, and he moved his head back between my legs and slipped his tongue inside of me.

I didn't want that. I couldn't want his tongue opening my body. Couldn't didn't want that strange stretching, teasing feeling to go on. Couldn't want him to thrust deeper, to pull out and tease me with just the tip of his tongue-

I grabbed two handfulls of bedsheet and pressed my face into the mattress as he leisurely rimmed me, barely-there touches dabbed around my entrance before he pressed close and fucked his tongue inside me again. It wasn't like being stretched by his fingers-- it was slower, it was more giving, and it was driving me crazy the way it wasn't quite enough. My upper body was going tight with the strain of not moving my hips, and my whole world seemed centered on his tongue and what he was doing with it. I felt half full and too empty at the same time.

A deep thrust and I shouted his name, muffled into the mattress.

He pulled away again. AGAIN. The bastard-!

"Harry. Harry." Disbelief colored his voice. "Do-- do you want me to? What do you want?"

I turned my head slowly, staring over my shoulder at him. He looked like sex incarnate-- mussed white hair, eyes wide and glowing bright with excitement, muscular chest heaving, boxers tented rigidly over a rod of flesh I knew by touch and taste.

"You aren't using your power, are you?" I asked hoarsely, even though I knew the answer. I'd have felt his energy mingle with mine. He'd done this to me with his fingers, his hands, his tongue. Nothing else.

He shook his head. "No. Didn't want to... cheat."

Hearing his voice thick with lust and knowing it was because he'd been pleasuring me made my trapped erection throb against my stomach.

"Then why do I want you to fuck me so much?"

He made a strangled noise and jammed his fist against his mouth, biting down on his knuckles. A patch of wetness appeared on his boxers.

"Lube's in the drawer," I said, sounding more controlled than I felt. "I bet you can get two fingers in right now."

He nearly jerked the whole drawer out of the nightstand. I let my head fall back to the bed; I didn't need to see to know what he was doing. I heard the pop of the cap and knew he was smoothing it across his fingers now.

His finger stroked my entrance, so cool after his tongue that I shuddered. Another stroke, and then he pressed into me, two fingers sinking in with only token resistance. I pressed back against it.

"You're ridiculously lovely right now," he said, hooking his fingers up inside me. I choked on a moan, shoving my hips back against his fingers. "I love to see you spread out for me, all long legs and my fingers in your fantastic ass-- and knowing what I'm going to do to you."

"You're going to fuck me, Bob," I said helpfully, and he hissed and pulled away. I heard the shuffle of cloth, a muffled curse, and then his weight dented the bed between my spread legs.

"Up on your knees, Harry," he said. "I can't wait anymore." His hands lifted my hips, and I got my knees under me somehow, pillowing my head in my arms. I felt him guide himself to my entrance and press in.

It burned, the sensation sharper and a little more painful than I'd felt before. It wasn't the pure delirious pleasure I was used to-- but that was exciting, somehow. A dirty little thrill that I was doing this without any excuses. I made myself examine that thought: I was on my hands and knees because I wanted to be and not because some spirit's energy was playing with my hormones.

Oh, it couldn't be good how much I liked that thought.

The burn faded as he slipped in, slow and big and wet with lubricant. I felt the familiar tingles of sensation, the stretch of muscle and the lingering heat of friction.

"You're so tight," he rasped, stroking out slowly and pushing in again, inch by inch. "This has to hurt-"

"Doesn't hurt. Not now. But you feel _huge_."

His fingers clenched against my hips and he thrust in harder, changing his angle. Slowly moving in me, looking for-

"There!" I gasped, just in case the involuntary thrust back against him hadn't clued him in. That was still mind-numbingly good, the slick glide against my prostate. The next time it was harder, and I moved back to meet him, took him so deep his hips slapped my ass. It sent electricity through me; made him moan like a soul possessed, and when we came together again it sent a jolt through my body.

We met each other, found the rhythm we both needed-- he pounded into me, this steady driving motion that I could feel through my whole body. Every stroke pushed me higher, every gasp, every deep, throaty moan out of his lips. I was on fire, his hands were slipping in my sweat, and he was a furnace behind me.

I was going to come with him inside me. Just thinking it made me hotter. My head was hanging, my mouth open as I panted. I knew I was dripping on the sheets, and I hadn't even been touched. I wanted it go on, and I wanted to come, and I wanted him not to stop thrusting into me.

Bob gasped and the speed of his thrusts changed, the rhythm breaking. He groaned, a rising, wordless sound that cut off in a cry as he spilled inside me.

I made an incredulous sound of protest. He couldn't stop-!

Then his hand curled around me, and after all that time untouched it was like an electric shock. He pumped me hard, finding that rhythm again and pulling me back up to the ledge. I could feel him softening, nestled in my body, and all I had to do was think about myself on my knees with him inside me and I was coming all over his fist and the bedsheets.

He slipped out of me and guided me to lay down on the bed, shifting the damp sheet out from under me. I melted into the mattress in a happy daze. There was a faint but definite soreness that was going to make walking interesting for the rest of the day. Tried to care; couldn't. Bruises on my hips. Tried to care... nope, no luck. I just felt too damn good.

Bob ran a hand down my back and then climbed out of bed; I grumbled a protest after him and then settled down to keep glowing. I wondered what time it was, and how bad an idea an extra hour or two of sleep would be. Preferably wrapped around Bob-- where'd he gone?

I cracked an eye and saw light from the bathroom. I heard the water running, and the sound of Bob brushing his teeth.

Oh, yeah. Good idea.

"Bob?"

"Mmf?"

"What time is it?"

Bob made an impatient sound and spat. "Six thirty," he said crisply.

Oh, hell. I had an appointment in a little less than two hours, and too much to do to nap. Still, it was one of the better six-thirties I could remember in a long time.

I rolled out of bed and walked-- carefully, with this weird rolling motion-- to the bathroom. I was sticky in places I didn't want to be sticky for the rest of the day.

Bob was combing his hair. He watched me limp into the shower with an oddly intrigued look.

"So are we dating now?" he asked as I started the water. "Should I give you my varsity pin?"

"Don't make fun of me this morning, Bob," I said cheerfully, the cold water streaming over me not quite killing my good mood. "I have ammo."

"Ammo-?"

I poked my head out of the shower curtain. "Nice endurance, speedy."

He winced. "In my defense, you were... really tight. And I wasn't using magic on myself, either."

"Just call it even and we'll forget all about it."

"Good idea," he said decisively. There was a beat. "But... Harry, you know you didn't have to do this? I would have spent the night anyway."

I grinned in the shower. Yeah, I'd figured that out. It was nice to be reminded.

"Get the hell in here, Bob, I'm cold."

Before a morning that's probably going to be spent dealing with demons, slime-spirits, or crank callers, whatever the spirit and mortal worlds can throw at me, it's nice to relax with a hot shower.

At least, I assume it would be. But you know what? A cold shower sharing body-heat with someone I care about is a pretty good alternative.


	2. Just Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PWP: Bob looks good in bad clothes.

I was supposedly working on a warding charm that should keep a client's cat out of the neighbor's tree. I was actually half working on a warding charm and half glancing across the lab. Bob was wearing the damn pants again.

Bob's new jeans had been kind of an epiphany to me. I'd always wondered why people would actually pay money for pre-worn jeans. Why would you _buy_ something that looked like it was about to sprout holes?

I understood now. People bought those jeans because they wanted to look like Bob looked in those jeans. The faded denim hugged his muscular thighs, stroked his calves when he walked. Clung to his lean hips, showed off his perfectly toned ass to a tee.

Now, I'm not a slave to my libido, not more than any guy. I can work with attractive women without falling apart. And even though I'm attracted to a guy-- Bob, specifically, the rest of the male gender still doesn't do it for me-- I can work with him, too.

But if a woman was walking around in pants that hugged her legs and a low-cut top, I'd be distracted. Just a fact. And if Bob decided to waltz around the lab in those damn jeans--

I turned back to the charm with an effort of will, inscribing another sigil on the little silver tag, and looked up again.

Bob was draped over a lab stool with one leg propped up. One arm was draped over his thigh, right next to that faded white patch in the denim that I kept staring at as if my gaze could burn a hole in it. Because then there'd be a hole right over his inner thigh, the soft white skin peeking through the denim. His robe's sleeve was rolled up to display equally pale skin-- his muscular forearm.

The urge to go over and indulge myself was nearly a craving at this point. I put my head in one hand, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "I need a break. I'm going to head up and grab a drink."

"Okay, chief," Bob said, not looking up from his research.

I padded up the stairs, grumbling to myself, and went for some icewater.

I sat on the couch for a few minutes, recentering. Not true meditation, but a clearing of my mind, a refocus on the task at hand. Refreshed, I opened my eyes.

And was looking straight at the damn jeans.

"Hey, Harry," Bob said, looking down at me. He'd shed his robe, so now it was tight jeans and tight t-shirt. "You were looking a little grumpy. I thought I should come see what was up."

"Bob, you're wearing the damn jeans."

He looked down, shrugged. "You mentioned you liked them."

"I mentioned they were distracting."

He smirked. "Hey. I can't help looking good."

"Bob, I'm trying to work." I said flatly.

"That's not my problem," he said flippantly.

"Oh, you asked for it, skull-boy." I stood up, looming over him, advancing on him like a wolf stalking a faun. His eyes widened and he backed up.

"Until I say 'be though commanded,'" I said, in a low threatening voice, following him across the length of the livingroom until he didn't have any more room to back up.

"Uh, Harry, you're-- looking kind of intense, there. I could go change-"

"-Do what thou wilst of thy own free will."

His back hit the wall. "Harry?" he asked meekly. "Um, your pupils are dilating. And you're looking a little tense."

"Don't worry. I'm about to feel a lot better."

"Aah. Um. I'm sorry?"

My hands slammed against the wall on either side of his shoulders, and I leaned down to give him a bruising kiss. He froze, and then melted into my onslaught, lips parting as my tongue thrust between them. His breath caught as I plundered his mouth, lapping at his palate, stroking his tongue with my own, brooking no resistance, no retaliation.

His eyes were glassy when I pulled back.

"Put your hands on my face, Bob," I said, my voice a command. And then, in a more conversational tone. "If you want, of course. Totally your own free will."

He gulped and slid his hands up to caress my face.

"I want you," I said, my voice low, purring. "Make me _need_ you."

"Oh," Bob whispered, and shut his eyes as raw lust poured into me, a flood of heat through his palms and fingertips.

The urge, the craving-- I stopped trying to fight it. I surrendered willingly to the need, and dropped to my knees. The jeans were tight enough that I could see the outline of his flaccid cock, engorging already. I mouthed across the soft denim and felt him swelling under my lips; the surge of triumph went straight to my own groin. I kissed the hardening flesh, nuzzled it through the denim until Bob whimpered.

I popped the fly button by button, kissing each one just to frustrate him, and to savor the touch of metal on my hypersensitive lips. When the fly was open I dragged the jeans down a fraction of an inch at the time until he was free. No underwear; I'd known that since my mouth touched him. He was fully erect; almost jumped up to meet me.

This was what I'd been thinking of while he paraded his damn thighs in the lab-- I'd just wanted him in my mouth. Now that I had him, I wasn't to going rush it. I started at the base, burying my nose in the thatch of white hair and inhaling the scent of him, kissing his sac, running my tongue along it, savoring the taste of salt and skin, reacquainting myself with the rough, crinkled texture-- and then shaft was smooth and hard under my tongue, the long vein of the bottom standing out. I traced it up, lapping the head.

Pausing a moment, I looked up at him. He was flat against the wall, his eyes wide and shocked, the pupils flaring with light. "Put your hands in my hair," I said, a quiet order.

His hands landed in my hair, shaking, and curled, tugging gently. I closed my eyes in pleasure. I wasn't going to deny myself any longer. I took him into my mouth with a moan of satisfaction, my lips wrapping around him just under the head and then sliding down to take him until my nose touched that white hair again.

Gag reflex? Supressed, like my inhibitions. I gave him a few deep strokes and then pulled back to savor the taste, the weight of him in my mouth, exploring liesurely with my tongue.

Bob's fingers curled tight in my hair. "Harry. Harry, please, please, please-"

Begging. My eyes rolled back a little-- I was rock hard, and every incoherent word in his rich voice was like a stroke across my own cock.

I licked him just under the head, then up across the slit-- I could taste salt, precum pumping out into my receptive mouth. I drew back, brushing my lips across the head, holding him with one hand and smearing that salt across my mouth, licking it off, doing it again.

Bob made a sound somewhere between a sob and a moan, but knew better than to press my head down. "Harry-- oh, hell, good, please lovely-- please, please, deeper, Harry-"

He might as well have been giving me a hand job, didn't he understand that? His words and the taste of him on my lips were going to get me off. Well... not words. I could get him nonverbal if I tried... And it started by taking him back into my mouth. A soft hum of pleasure slipped out--maybe it was just Bob's energy charging through me, but somehow he seemed to fit my mouth perfectly. Every time.

I looked up, made sure he was watching when I took him all the way to the root again and started to really suck him. I kept my rhythm slow, bobbing up and down as his pleas turned into just ... sounds. I wanted him to moan for me. I needed to taste him finish.

I went fast and deep and hard, devouring him with every stroke as my hands played with his thigh, his sac, wherever I felt like touching him. His skin twitched under my fingers, and he keened softly-- then louder.

I felt him twitch in my mouth and could have smiled in satisfaction if my lips weren't stretched obscenely around him. Bob wailed out my name and his hips thrust desperately into my mouth. I let him fuck my face; welcomed him in. Enjoyed every second, milked him dry until one more touch of my tongue would have been painful.

I let him slip out of my mouth, and kissed his pale thigh before I stood up to see how he'd held up.

He was dazed. A wreck. The wall was the only thing holding him up; he slumped visibly when I gently guided his hands out of my hair.

Vindication. It's great.

"Thanks, Bob," I said, giving him a winning smile. Then, with a gentle effort, I pushed his energy out of my aura. The lust faded; my hypersensitive nerves ramped back down to normal. The satisfaction remained.

I licked a drop of semen off of the corner of my mouth and sighed contentedly. "I do feel better."

Bob opened his mouth, and then looked down.

My own significantly less tight, less sexy jeans were wet at the crotch, a spreading stain. Bob just shuddered and looked away.

"You ready to be commanded again?" I said cheerfully, afterglow making me almost bubbly.

He nodded, dazed. "... okay."

"Be thou commanded," I said, stroking his cheek; the ritual was as familiar to both of us as peeling off a condom. We don't need condoms. Bob's body doesn't incubate disease. Instead, he needed a shield against my will; if I accidently commanded him during sex, he'd have to obey. And neither of us would enjoy that.

Slavery isn't my kink. No.

Oral sex, on the other hand...

"I'm going to change," I said brightly. "See you back in the lab."

I headed into my room and poked around until I found a pair of not too dirty khakis, tossing my stained jeans in the pile to be washed. Then I headed back down to the subbasement to finish the charm.

Which worked... well, like a charm. I was relaxed, focused, energized; I felt Bob's eyes on me every now and then, and ignored them easily.

When I was done, I looked up. Bob jerked his eyes away from me, and focused hard on his book. I noted with mild satisfaction that it was the same page he'd been trying to read since I got back down here.

When he sneaked another glance at me, I moistened my bottom lip and then smiled warmly.

He sucked in a breath and put his head in one hand, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

I left him to it, and headed up the basement stairs, whistling a happy tune.


End file.
